Military Assets
by Sookie Starchild
Summary: Perceptor is injured in the line of duty. Sort of.


First there was the faint sound of something exploding in the science labs. Then there was the beep of the communications console.

"Everybody better be online in there…" Ratchet answered, already halfway out of the medbay door.

"Oh Primus," the voice on the other end answered. "You gotta come quick."

And he did. He practically slid down the corridors with the grace of a seasoned field medic and an agility that didn't seem to match the bulk of his upper frame. With his emergency bag half-slung over his shoulder, he burst through the laboratory doors, half off their hinges, to find two stations in complete disarray. Open conduits were sparking bolts and zaps of electricity, girders were bent all along one wall, destruction was everywhere.

And Wheeljack was standing in the middle of it all.

"Ratchet! You have to do something! I don't even know if he's online!"

Ratchet looked around carefully. Wheeljack was the only bot he could see in the room.

"Oh Primus. At first I thought everything was okay, I thought I'd just busted up my station and some of the central equipment, but then I was assessing the damage and I realized _we only have one red microscope_!" Wheeljack shook his head and kneeled down.

That's when Ratchet saw Perceptor. He was in his alt-mode, and the base was almost entirely disconnected from the arm. Carefully, he picked up the unit and tried to reattach it.

"Perceptor, can you transform?"

There were a series of futile clicks and whirs within the microscope, then nothing.

"He's going to be okay, right?" Wheeljack pleaded, "Please tell me he's going to be okay."

"You're either going to have to calm down, or you're going to have to evacuate this area."

"I'm sorry. What can I do?"

"Hold him together. I need to secure his base, otherwise we won't be able to determine the extent of the damage." Ratchet made sure than Wheeljack was holding the patient securely, then he reached into his bag for the necessary tools. After a full Earth hour of tense work, Perceptor was stable enough to transfer to the medical bay.

* * *

><p>"Nuts and bolts, Doc!" Ironhide clapped a hand on Ratchet's shoulder, "You look like you spent the last three cycles in a trash compactor! Did I miss a firefight somewhere?"<p>

"Ugh." Ratchet groaned, "I was saving Perceptor's life, thank you very much for the commentary."

"What happened to him?"

"He got his rear compartment blown off in an explosion. He's fine."

Ironhide stood still for a minute, contemplating whether or not he would ever be able to laugh at this. It wasn't that he didn't think it was hilarious. It was quite possibly the funniest thing he would ever hear in his life. But being presented with this, and knowing that it would probably never stop being funny, he felt like he had on that day – so long ago – when he'd first walked into the Iacon City armory. There were so many weapons, he knew he'd never be able to fire them all. Instead of being excited at the possibilities, he was so overwhelmed with the finite reality of time versus ways to shoot things that he'd stood frozen among the artillery. This felt like the same sort of thing.

"I'm really surprised that you're not laughing." Ratchet said.

"I think I'm havin' some kind of epiphany," Ironhide said slowly, "Can somethin' be so funny it changes your understandin' of the universe?"

* * *

><p>Wheeljack went to see Perceptor after a few days had passed. The worst of the damage was repaired, and First Aid had repainted him in an attempt to get him to shut up about how much science he could be doing if he wasn't in the care of a system that couldn't come up with some sort of out-patient program. The new paint hadn't improved his disposition. He was suspended by a complicated series of belts and fasteners that kept his rear compartment attached, and left his arms free for small activities to keep him occupied.<p>

He looked at Wheeljack with a gaze colder than liquid nitrogen.

"What. Now?" He demanded.

Wheeljack cleared his throat.

"I wanted to come by and apologize… about your… injury. And I wanted to assure you that the experiment which led to it was a success! Which I'm sure is something you can appreciate! Our energon efficiency will now be improved by 0.00008% over a period of three standard Earth years!"

Perceptor didn't seem thrilled, but Wheeljack put that down to his still being fatigued from the accident. Soon, once he'd had time to think, Perceptor would see that this was wonderful news and then he'd be less bitter about what had happened.

There was a long, awkward silence wherein Perceptor just stared at Wheeljack. Hatefully.

"NURSE!" He called out, never wavering in his glower.

"This better be important..." First Aid muttered, walking into the room. "Well?"

"Expel Wheeljack, he's disturbing my convalescence."

Wheeljack tried not to let his disappointment show, but he'd never been good at obscuring his emotions.

"I don't know why you both look so upset. You should be proud of yourselves," First Aid said, looking between the two bots. "There isn't a department on this planet that doesn't spend half the day talking about how much they want to see their supervisor's aft in a sling – but Sciences gets it _done_!"


End file.
